


Probability

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck
Genre: FTM, Humanstuck, M/M, Pre-Established Relationship, transgender character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-31
Updated: 2012-05-31
Packaged: 2017-11-06 11:36:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/418448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I got all that you need,” you insist, your voice rougher than gravel. Your voice always did lower a few octaves when you were aroused. You’d never really know how much Dave envied it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Probability

**Author's Note:**

> A male is a male. Period. :-)

You cherished nights like these. He’d come home from work stressed and you told him what the policy was. Leave that lousy shit at the door. You arms were a hearth for everything he was made of and in return he let you in, and together you were chill.

Hours were spent toking and laying back in the bed while staring at the eerie shit Dave kept in jars. You thought about the universe and the probability of the ceiling fan dropping and cutting you alive. Tonight he was especially out of his element. Those lame ass shades fooled no one in the room. You hooked a finger ‘round the bridge and pulled it off his face with ease to find his eyes averting yours.

“Take that fucking makeup off.”

Dave doesn’t seem amused when you just chuckle. When your lips are pushed against his, he’s even less amused. He gives a groan of frustration. Its cadence turns you the fuck on. You lift your palm to the back of his head, tangling your wrist in his hair. Dave is wriggling against you in that so familiar and it makes you so hungry, you are biting his skin. You know he’ll be bitching about gray and white makeup. By now he can taste it. It smears on his teeth. Your hands are now searching his anatomy for buttons— all the places you know just tickle him pink.

“Hey— stop, chucklefuck,” he snarks when your fingers ghost along his sides.

It’s so ticklish there and you just can’t help it. Hearing his poker face crack into laughter is beautiful. Everything about him is beautiful and handsome to you. As you travel further south you press your lips to his navel. He fights a giggle and you admire the grayish stain on his body.

“I got all that you need,” you insist, your voice rougher than gravel. Your voice always did lower a few octaves when you were aroused. You’d never really know how much Dave envied it.

Your hands undo those tight ass jeans revealing the plain black boxers that lied underneath. You and Dave make eye contact once and all he gives is that deadpan ‘Well?’ and then a gasp when you push your fingers through the easily accessible hole. He holds the stare and bites his lip. His fingers are starting to grip the bedsheets. You’re getting your hand awfully messy.

“And you’re already there,” you whisper absentmindedly as you regard the wetness— the slippery folds in your palm.

Dave twitches from beneath you and as usual you know that he’s far more excited than he wants to let on. His breath hitches when your thumb nudges just beneath his hood and rubs his clitoris in circles you’ve learned to perfect. Shit, you’ve got your boyfriend whining with his knees trembling back and forth. Just when you’re sure he’s ‘bout to cuss you, your digits slew into his pussy. Fuck, it’s warm and it’s wet, and even before you work some magic, he creams like putty in your hand. The walls tighten and convulse around you.

When he’s done, you just wait for him to flop back onto his back. He’s decidedly marvelous at keeping in the moans when he peaks, but you always await the way he exhales his lungs. And so he does, laying boneless; fondly considering the state of the ceiling fan that’s revolving overhead.

You pull your fingers free, licking them and fancying the salty taste. He doesn’t even need to move to sense the grin that you flash in his direction.

“Gamzee, no.”

Why, you haven’t the slightest idea of what he means. You merely push your nose into his neck, smirching inch after inch in your paint. Your arms are now snaked around his waist and he smirks. He’s no fool to your antics. You try for a kiss.

“Go wash your mouth out, shit.”


End file.
